Frozen Hearts
by darylsdiva1
Summary: Daryl is set to leave again with Michonne on their hunt for the Governor. One shot set two months after S3 "Welcome to the Tombs." Caryl fix!


_**AN: This was my therapy after "Isolation." Hope it helps you too.**_

* * *

_Frozen Hearts_

_Every time I think of you  
I always catch my breath  
__And I'm still standing here and you're miles away  
And I'm wondering why you left _

_And there's a storm that's raging  
Through my frozen heart tonight  
I ain't missin' you at all  
Since you been gone away..._

_I ain't missin' you at all!  
I can lie to myself... _

"_Missing You," by John Waite _

* * *

They were leaving again, the two warriors, armed as of old with bow and sword; off chasing down a clue that one of the new arrivals had given about the henchman of a one eyed man. They sought revenge for the deaths of the ones they'd loved and lost. Carol understood it; there was comfort in the idea of making someone pay for taking away a person who had meant something irreplaceable to you, someone for whom you felt the deepest of connections by blood or ties of love and survival.

When he was gone Carol didn't sit idly by. She was no tower stranded maiden who only came alive in the presence of her knight in shining armor. She had her own quest, her own responsibilities to the people she cared for, both old and new. There were children, young ones, in the new groups who joined them at the prison and she made sure that they felt welcomed, given a sense that life could go on, despite what had been lost. She'd do anything for them.

She had already lost so much; a husband, best remembered only as the father of her child, Sophia, the light of her life, who had also been taken from her by the monsters, the dead who walked abroad at the end of days. Friends, so many lost friends...she missed the ones from before the Turn yes, but especially those who she'd met after. They'd become family. Jim, Amy, Jacqui had been lost before they'd even left Atlanta; then at the farm, Dale, and then Shane, Patricia and Jimmy as they fled it. At the Prison, Lori, who'd been like a sister, T-Dog, who'd saved her, and then Axel, Oscar, Andrea, murdered by the Governor.

She understood very well why Daryl and Michonne left for days at a time, chasing down any trace and trail, to find the man who'd murdered brother, sister, and friend. Every one of the original prison survivors wanted justice for their loved ones and so didn't begrudge the two warriors the time away from the mundane tasks of making a life at the prison in those first months after the Woodbury group had joined them.

When they returned from their searches, thick as thieves, full of stories of the road, talking in intimate short hand about events of which she had no knowledge, Carol's fingers felt numb, her chest curiously cold and empty, her head light. _She was losing him..._the thought came unbidden_. You never had him in the first place, _she chided herself, too numbed to even shed tears as she sat in the watch tower, late at night, looking out over the walkers milling all around them, testing the fences for weakness, a way in.

She'd never really found that way in with Daryl.

* * *

"You just got back and now you're going out _again_? Rick isn't leading any more, he's stepping away, for Carl, for Judith—we need a council—we need you _here."_ Carol heard Glenn arguing with Daryl when she came back from her solitary watch. She tried to turn around, leave before they saw her, but Glenn called out to her from his seat at one of the round mess hall tables. Daryl was perched on top of the one next to him, checking the fletching on his arrows, preparing to leave again in the morning.

"Carol—_tell him!_ We need him here!"

Carol stopped, squared her shoulders and turned to face them.

_"_Do _you_ think I'm wastin' my time lookin' for the bastard?" Daryl asked her, angry and defensive, glaring at her and then back at Glenn. The two had clearly been arguing for some time.

"It doesn't matter what I think." Carol said, keeping her voice even, calm, icy. If she let her emotions rule she would beg him to stay, to never leave her again, but she didn't want to be that woman. She was strong now, maybe stronger because she'd faced what life would be like without him in it twice now, and she'd survived. She'd learned to coat her heart with a layer of ice, frozen solid on the outside, leaving just the deepest center still warm enough to beat, to keep her alive.

"Course it does." he said, "Yer opinion matters just as much as everyone else's." he insisted to her, thinking she was saying she wasn't worthy of the group's respect.

And that was the problem. She wanted her opinion to matter _more to him_ than anyone else's_._

"Michonne wants to keep goin'" Daryl said, invoking his search partner's name. "We gotta a good lead from the new group in from Decatur; they ran across raiders what sounded like Martinez was leadin' em."

"And if this one doesn't pan out? Will you consider what I'm saying? Or are you having too much fun trading fleas with Michonne out on the road?" Glenn said sarcastically. The last time they came back, both of their sets of clothing had to be either burned or, in the case of the leathers, fumigated, and dog flea shampoo applied to their long hair. The story was that he'd had them take shelter from a herd in an abandoned boarding kennel, but Michonne had laughed so much telling it, more than a few eyebrows had been raised.

"What the_ fuck_?" Daryl fumed; he slid down off of the table and got in Glenn's face, using an arrow for emphasis. "Y'all think I'm goin' out there because it's _fun?_" Glen raised an eyebrow.

Carol crossed her arms in front of her, determinedly looking at the floor, at first refusing to meet Daryl's gaze until she could add another layer of ice, slick, clear and cold, reflecting out in her eyes.

"We're building a community here, Daryl." she said quietly, and then she did look at him, clear eyed and determined. "You need to decide if you want to be a part of it."

Daryl's mouth fell open and he shook his head at her.

"What're you sayin'?" he asked softly, his anger muted behind something that almost sound like suspicion mixed with fear.

"I'm saying that if you leave again and by some miracle you come back, don't expect things to stay the same." Carol said, almost monotone and then she walked past both men, heading for the cell block.

Daryl followed her with his eyes as she left the room, his confusion apparent.

"What the hell crawled up her behind?" Daryl muttered.

"You really are a dumb son of a bitch aren't you?" Glenn snorted, shaking his head. Daryl rounded on him, throwing down the bolt and slamming both hands palms down on the table where the younger man sat.

"What's _wrong _with her?" Daryl growled. This frost queen was not the woman he'd come to know over the last two years.

"Maybe you should go ask her." Glenn said, smiling sadly, taking pity on his friend.

Daryl grunted, backing away, picking up the arrow he'd dropped, returning to his table. He sat and hung his head, playing with the arrow, turning it over and over in his hands.

"Never know what to say to her." he admitted softly. "Women're hard to talk to."

"So what do you and _Michonne_ talk about –when you're out there on the road?" Glenn asked, curious.

"_Pfft._ Ain't the same." he said, wincing and slanting Glenn a squinty look. "She's...she's like you, like Rick—she's easy to talk to."

"She's a woman, Daryl—a quite beautiful one." Daryl head came up and he frowned at Glenn.

"Ain't nothin' like that. We're on a job; out there lookin' for _him_." he said adamantly, at Glenn's continuing skeptical look, he added. "She's a friend and she needs my help."

"What's Carol need then, Daryl?" Glenn asked. Daryl's mouth came open, but no words issued forth. Glenn stood and came to stand beside him, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder.

"I suggest you go after her and find out."

* * *

"How was watch?" Beth asked, holding Judith, burp cloth over her shoulder, testing the bottle on her wrist, standing in the door of their cell.

"Same as it ever was." Carol said wearily, pulling off her jacket and waiting for Beth to step back to she could enter. Beth smiled, looking over Carol's shoulder.

"Hey Daryl." Beth said cheerfully, but Carol froze, not turning, wishing she'd gone to visit Sasha first to talk more about the Council idea.

"Beth...lil'ass kicker sure is growin'" he said with a warm smile in his voice. Beth looked expectantly at Carol, but she didn't turn nor speak, so the young woman frowned.

"Carol?" Daryl's quiet questioning murmur of her name from behind her made her close her eyes, trying to resist his appeal. "Can I...can we talk?"

"I don't think so, Daryl." Carol said. "I said what I needed to say." Now Beth looked alarmed and uncomfortable, giving Daryl a questioning look over Carol's shoulder.

_"Please."_ Daryl said, and he very tentatively brushed his fingers against Carol's elbow. When she didn't flinch away he let his fingers close over her arm, the first time he'd touched her in so long...

"I'll go." Beth said, taking a step forward, but Carol didn't want him in her room, couldn't handle being in the small space with him.

"You stay." she said to Beth and then turned towards Daryl, her chin up, Ice Queen Carol. At her cold look he released her arm and backed up.

"We can do a perimeter sweep. I'm sure Maggie would rather spend the time with Glenn." Carol told him and set off briskly towards the door to the outer yard.

"You know who's on sweep?" Daryl asked curiously as he followed her.

"I set all of the duty rosters: kitchen, laundry, cleaning detail, latrines, day and night watch shifts, perimeters, graves, removal and burns, weeding, water—" she paused in her listing to grab protective gear and a long pole, spiked at one end, from the stack by the entrance.

"_You _do?" Daryl asked nonplussed. He had no idea she'd taken on so much responsibility.

"Just because we're not all out there hunting doesn't mean we sit on our asses eating bonbons all day." Carol said, her voice calm and very deliberately not sarcastic or flippant. She sounded like she just didn't care about what he and Michonne had been doing, and it bugged the hell out of him.

They found Maggie and one of the new arrivals, Zach, working to clear the outer fence of walkers so they wouldn't build up too much over night.

"Maggie—you can call it a night, we'll take your shift." Carol called. Maggie punched through one more decaying blue gray eye socket, black gore spraying out the back of its head. She and the handsome young man next to her turned, surprised to see Carol wasn't alone.

"You sure, Carol? You just came off watch." Zach asked, eying Daryl assessingly.

"I'll be fine—brought reinforcements." Carol said easily, and the two young people looked at Daryl, hovering behind Carol.

"You need a refresher course, old man?" Zach grinned, leaning on his tool, a metal walking cane that had the rubber foot removed and the end sharpened to a lethal point.

"Been killin' these bastards long as anybody here, _longer _than some," Daryl drawled, looking at Maggie with a raised eyebrow. She gave him a half smile. Protected on their isolated farm, the Greens had come late to the necessity of killing walkers.

"You a soldier? Before?" Zach asked curiously, wondering what the tough looking man meant.

"Guess again." Maggie said, rolling her eyes. Zach grinned and nodded his head, the wheels turning.

"Let me cogitate on it a bit—I'll get back to ya, Sarge." he said with a slow smile, drawing a grin from Daryl, who always appreciated a fellow smart ass.

"The biggest build up is by tower three." Maggie told Carol, pointing to the farthest guard tower, the only one spared in the Governor's final raid on the prison.

"Fine—now you two go—Glenn's waiting up in the mess." Carol told them.

"Beth still up?" Zach asked, and then blushed when they all turned to look at him.

"She was giving Judi her bottle." Carol told him with a smile, "You could sit up with her."

"Thanks, Carol." Zach said shyly. "Night."

"Good night." Carol said to them both, Maggie playfully warning Zach to make sure sitting was as far as he got in Beth and Carol's room, especially since Hershel's was right next door. Daryl watched them go, realizing that there was a lot going on here at the prison about which he had no idea.

"That been goin' on long?" he asked Carol as he began methodically taking out the monsters separated from them only by a thin fence of woven wire.

"What?"

"You know, Beth and that kid."

"Zach's twenty two, Beth's eighteen. In this world that's probably middle age." Carol said dryly. "Any one of us could be dead tomorrow." she said, again so matter of fact it set his teeth on edge. "Some of us probably will be." she added, shrugging her shoulders.

"Don't talk like that." Daryl growled. This wasn't her—not his Carol—not the woman who'd kept on going even after she'd lost her dearest one.

"We need to head to tower three." she said, ignoring his comment and moving out a quick trot. Daryl could see that the fence was bowing in slightly directly under the tower and he quickly followed her. The two of them could handle it, but it took all of their concentration and energy to continuously punch and jab, taking out corpse after corpse, leaving no room for any sort of conversation.

* * *

After an hour of continuous work they were both drenched in sweat, the protective aprons and gloves they'd donned splattered with blood from the newer and pus and black bile from the older bodies they put down. Daryl was impressed with how much stamina she had built up over the last few months. He was in the best shape of his life from the constant running and short rations on the road, mainly the protein he hunted, but she had easily kept up with him.

"Think we got ahead of it?" Daryl asked.

"Hard to tell—can't see." Carol replied, trying to see beyond the pile up of the dead. Daryl looked at the tower behind them.

"Higher ground." he said, and nodded his head towards the doorway. Carol pursed her lips, not really wanting to go up there with him, but knowing it would give them the vantage point they needed to check out the rest of the perimeter. She nodded in agreement and took off her gloves and apron. He did the same and then went to the rain barrel next to the door and dipped a bucket in, quickly rinsing off his bare arms and face, the cool water feeling good on his heated skin. It was late; a dark night with a high full moon, but it was still over 90 degrees out. He finally gave in and dumped the rest of the bucket over his head, shaking his shaggy hair out like a puppy and grinning over at her.

Carol watched as he cleaned and cooled himself, furious with herself for not being able to look away. He was primal, all hard muscles and grace, those sky blue eyes searing her carefully laid layers of protective ice to steam. Her heart felt like _it_ was melting; hot syrup slow, warm drips down into her belly and lower...

Daryl refilled the bucket and held it out to her, his eyes narrowing when he saw the way she was looking at him, unsure of what he was seeing in her face. She walked to him, only three or four steps, and took the bucket from his hands and dumped it over her own head. Taken aback he laughed, but she wiped her hands up and over her face, clearing her eyes and staring at him. She threw down the bucket and grabbed hold of his shirt front and shoved him back against the door to the tower.

"All right, Dixon, you want to talk? _Talk."_ she said fiercely.

Daryl couldn't think of a single thing to say.

So he kissed her.

Soft, slow, gentle, the way a woman always wants to be kissed. The way a woman dreams of being kissed by the man she loves.

Carol ripped her mouth from his, furious.

_"Damn you."_ she muttered, releasing his shirt and taking a step back.

"Carol—I'm-" he tried, but she glared at him.

_"Shut up."_ she ordered and then strode forward, through the tower doorway, catching his hand in hers as she passed by him and taking him along with her up the stairs.

* * *

Sex in the walker apocalypse had some curious necessities to it. One was that when you got the opportunity, you went for it. Maggie and Glenn had perfected this, storing condoms in every conceivable private place in the prison, including all of the towers. Daryl wasn't sure whether he was impressed or intimidated that Carol knew where the younger couple stashed them.

A second necessity was that you didn't just rip each other clothes off—you had to remove your weapons first. Carol had on a thigh strapped pistol, some sort of small machete at her waist and her small knife in her pants pocket. Daryl carefully removed them all from her, kneeling before her to slowly unbuckle each and set them carefully on the floor behind her next to his crossbow. Then it was her turn, her hands at his waist releasing the belt that held his big phallic buck knife. She unsnapped his angel wing vest and was surprised to find a sheath with a second smaller but equally lethal looking knife under the vest, strapped to his back, a hidden weapon with brass knuckle handle, a gang fighter's knife. She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what kinds of situations he found himself in that he'd feel the need to have this.

"Thas my 'just in case' knife." he grinned and she gave him a droll stare and tossed it onto the pile. She pushed the vest off his shoulders and reached around him, finding the Luger he had tucked inside the back of his pants waistband. She lifted it out slowly, dragging it against his butt, her body still not quite touching his.

"Fixin' to shoot my ass off?" he muttered, but heard the click as she checked the safety and then the clatter of the gun hitting the floor, the last of their weapons. It was like that moment in strip poker when everyone was down to their underwear, whoever lost the next hand would be the first to show...

And then her hands reached up to frame his shoulders, delicately, fingers outstretched, tracing the curves and dips of muscle down to biceps, elbows, forearms, wrists until she reached his hands, calloused, scarred, strong long fingers—they should have played piano instead of drawing a bow—maybe in another life...

"I need you to touch me too, Daryl." she told him, holding his hands. She looked up into his eyes, "Does she let you get away with that?" she murmured, her eyes glassy. She was under no illusions that this meant something more to him than sex. She wanted him; he wanted her, that simple.

_"Who?"_ he asked, looking genuinely puzzled at the question, "Ain't never been nobody else." he assured her, hoping she'd understand how special this was to him.

"Daryl, I'm not blind—I know you and Michonne have gotten close—"

"_Friends_—we're _good_ friends—Jesus, why do people just assume a man and a woman got somthin' goin' on just coz' they spend time t'gether huntin' a mass murdering _psycho?_"

"But she's—"

"Beautiful? That's what Glenn said...s'pose so...but I don't want her like that_._"

"Are you leaving with her again?" she asked him searchingly.

"Made a promise." he said, "But this one doesn't pan out, I'm _done_." She saw truth in his eyes, also fear that she wouldn't believe him. She felt the stab of an icicle of doubt trying to work its way through, into her chest to freeze him out again.

"What happens then? When you stop? When you're done?" she asked him.

"Glenn said to ask what you need me here for..."

"The Council." Carol said, nodding. Of course he felt duty bound.

"Maybe...might be able to do some good there. Not what he meant though."

Carol tilted her head at him questioningly.

"Why do _you_ need me here?" Daryl asked her.

"What do you _want_, Daryl?" she asked. He pulled his hands from hers and spanned her small waist.

"I'm _with_ what I want..._who_ I want." he said shyly, leaning in to press a kiss to her brow. He pulled back and looked down at her, "Are _you_?"

"I want you." she nodded in agreement.

_"Show me."_ he whispered and she reached up to put her arms around his neck, drawing his mouth to hers, melting into him.

* * *

Carol heard the clatter of someone opening gates in the prison yard below and looked to the place beside her in the nest they'd made from the blankets stashed there by previous couples.

She was alone.

Standing, wrapping a blanket around her, blinking against the early morning light, she looked out towards the front of the prison and watched as the light green car passed through the outer gate, her numbness returning, the new layer of ice trying to form, but her heart kept pounding with memories of the night, the melting heat of what they had shared here throwing off hairline fractures crackling up and through the clear crystal blue.

Choking back hot tears, she lowered her head to her arms, leaning down against the railing of the tower, wondering if you really could die from a broken heart, frozen and shattered on the ground below.

He'd left before. She'd survived before. This time he'd promised to come back.

Standing, wiping her hands across her face angrily, she squared her shoulders and turned to find her clothes, to leave the place they'd made theirs last night. She dressed quickly, strapped on his brass knuckle knife—her knife now, he'd left it for her—and lifted the trap door to the stairs.

Daryl stood there, taking in her tears and anger.

"I had to tell her—that I wasn't goin'." he explained, "S'posed to leave at sun up." he said, nodding at the misty dawn behind her. "Thought I'd get back afore you woke up." he said, as much of an apology as he'd ever given anyone in a long time.

"She's gone?" Carol asked, even knowing it must have been Michonne in the green car; she needed to hear him say it. She backed up and he finished climbing the stairs, coming back into the tower room, unslinging and setting down his crossbow.

"And I'm stayin'," he nodded at her, "I ain't perfect you know," he warned "I'll probably fuck this up; say or do somthin' stupid—still not good at the touchin' stuff—or I'll _forget _I should say goodbye every time I need to go on a run—but I want this. I want to be part of what you're making here ...and ...and I want _us._" He told her. "I want_ us_ to try to be happy." Daryl squinted at her, the rising sun behind her setting off her silver hair in a nimbus of light.

She nodded at him and he went to her, putting his arms around her and lifting her off her feet with the embrace, not quite a storybook maiden in a tower. Queen Carol and Daryl, her knight in denim and leather, were rescuing _each other_.

Carol held him close. She knew he'd have to leave again, sometime, some mission, some run from which he wouldn't come back, and that then her heart would freeze up for good. But whatever time they had left, whatever the fates had in store, in this time of thaw, she wanted to be with him.


End file.
